new idea

It's weird how many ideas get inspired by my dad's poems. I guess that's okay, though.

I like the idea of his love poem. Love is confusing.

So, here's my new idea. Brain in Greek, I think:

It's either called "Ode to 'Ode to a Grecian Urn'" or "A Love Story."

It will be an abstract representation of love. One that on the first level of thought might seem bad, but that is actually okay. Not bad. Good even.

I was thinking about the idea that we are made up of cells and molecules and atoms. And each of those parts within ourselves can broken down even more and when you look closely enough, there is space between everything. So when you love someone there's always going to be that little distance. Physically and figuratively. It reminded me of the poem by Keats, "Ode to a Grecian Urn" which I am re-reading. It's a difficult read for me, but I'm excited to read it.

The part of the poem that I want to delve into is the tragedy in the loves being frozen for eternity and never able to kiss.

This might sound like a sad idea - and I think in the Urn's case it is a sad idea. I guess I would like to think of it in terms of it not being sad. Looking on the bright side, I guess. Because what makes loves so wonderful is not closing the gaps. It's the desire to love that makes love so special. The desire to love despite its challenges and the pain that it sometimes brings. The good out weighs the bad.

I am also seeing a connect here about Keats and his long never reached love of Fanny Brawne. Hmm. In the poem, Keats tells the lovers not to fear because their love is perfect. I guess what I would be saying if for real love not to fear because although our love might not be perfect we can be completely satisfied because the good outweighs the bad idea. hmmmm.

I guess that's something I'm really liking to with paintings. Connect ideas. Hmm. Hmm. Hm.

This link has info:
http://european-literature.suite101.com/article.cfm/ode_on_a_grecian_urn

This is the poem:

THOU still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape	5
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?	10
2. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave	15
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!	20
3. Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!	25
For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.	30
4. Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,	35
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.	40
5. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!	45
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,”—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.	50

This is the urn: